


Rebellion of the Lost

by AshadelMG



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Forlarren, Gen, Kaldorei - Freeform, Lesbian Character, Night Elf, Original Character(s), Satyr, Sylvanas Windrunner - Freeform, Tyrande Whisperwind - Freeform, Worldbuilding, mentions of:, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 18:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshadelMG/pseuds/AshadelMG
Summary: An outcast, Leithi has long found solace under the guiding light of Elune. As Tyrande demands justice and casts Darkshore into everlasting night, Leithi cannot help the feeling of dread that grows in her stomach as her leader shuns the Goddess they both serve and leaves her with lingering questions; is Tyrande still fit to lead, and does she truly wish to be Kaldorei any longer?





	Rebellion of the Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This expansion is a riot, isn't it? In light of Blizzard once again making one of my favorite races a group I really just want to punch, I've decided to write my own canon, as I find it amusing that only the Horde apparently gets to have rebellious members. So, welcome to one of my beloved characters having to come to terms with her deepest desires potentially becoming the last thing she wants. Hope you enjoy!

‘ _I do not know what to do.’_

  
The lament came from her beneath a labored breath, shaking hands clutched tightly to a chest that bore only the ceremonial shift that was allowed to touch the waters of the enchanted pool. Here, bathed in moonlight struck through with dust that drifted from the carefully manicured hole in the cavern ceiling, it was meant to be only she and the beloved Goddess that she sought to appease. Here, she was content to let all truths show.

  
It had come on like a cold, this weakness. In the aftermath of the Legion’s defeat, she had felt an elation like no other. To see her Kaldorei kin fall upon the Legion like wild cats finally unleashed to the slaughter had brought her pride in the people she so desperately wished to be a part of. In the presence of the Legion, she could afford to let her illusions slip, could afford to let others in a little closer. Could afford to trust.

  
Yet, as the presence of her more vile kin lessened on the world of Azeroth, as they turned to flee away and lick their wounds for another battle on another day, for she was far too old and far too learned to think that the Legion would simply cease in the absence of one leader and she was certain that they would see them returned again, such a weakness had come on that had left her with so little strength.

  
‘ _I feel as though I am being torn apart.’_

  
A painless pain, if she were to be honest. Like the odd flutter of the heart that made one raise a brow and press their hand to their chest, or the disconcerting feeling that something was ever calling one home, a sense of wanderlust that always pulled to one point, so it had felt like half of herself was slowly being pulled, but in no particular direction. With that pull had come the lethargy, hardly noticed until those she had saved and now sheltered were shaking her awake with taloned hands and wide-eyed worry.

  
It had taken months for it to creep up on her, and now it seemed as though it would not leave. Fear had once again taken hold, that blissful unity she felt in her people’s company now laden down with the nagging experiences of the past, and no matter how she thought she might move past it, the terror that had filled her as a young child with no way to understand her differences now filled her again as an adult.

  
‘ _How can I promise them sanctuary when I feel so uncertain?’_

  
Her hands squeezed together tighter, raising to her bent brow and pressing there while she sought the comfort of her goddess. In all things, Elune alone had never cast doubt. In all things, Elune had been the one constant that she was ever able to rely on. Leithi had built her life up around the invisible force that all Kaldorei seemed to lean upon, slipping into temples filled with those who would so quickly turn upon her if they had the chance just for a moment or two of calm belonging that Elune could bring.

  
Behind her, immense wings flared out and stretched, then lowered again to drape over the surface of the moonlit waters. She still remembered gaining the silly things, retreating from the Twisting Nether months before the onslaught of the Legion had come. Never before had her Nathrezim blood annoyed her so much as when she was forced to expend additional energy to mask the sight of them from the eyes of others. Now, in truth, they were something of a comfort.

  
‘ _I am still here. I have not woken to my nightmares yet.’_

  
The shift of hooves on stone behind her as her guard adjusted his stance caught her ears, and she sighed softly. She had been here since before the moon had even touched the pool, let alone the sky, hoping to greet the Mother’s eyes and bathe in the comfort that moonlight so often brought to her. Heras was never, ever known for his patience, not even when she had been but a girl.

  
Her eyes opened at last, hands falling from her brow to the surface of the water while she gathered the strength to heave her waterlogged wings from the liquid and snap them outwards, scattering droplets against the stone walls that sat in the shadows. They remained lofted as she turned and made her way out of the pool, the drip of water from her shift causing more noise than her own footsteps.

  
Heras waited for her at the door, already attentive to the sound of her. The satyr was a behemoth of a creature, though she was uncertain that few of the demons that were so well-known upon Azeroth weren’t. Imps, certainly. The curious little pack-demons that were so fond of buying and selling, those as well. Heras towered above most and hid well in the shadows, his skin and fur both a deep shade of black.

  
He was silent, offering only his taloned hand for her to support herself while she undressed, and then helping her lace herself into her simple gown. For all the ferocity that he and his own kin held in their massive and brawny bodies, she knew well how precise the satyr could be.

  
One could not fall to the acts they had committed and not understand it.

  
“The wounded are nearly perished. Your father still has not responded. The tree still smolders.” The satyr’s voice was rich and deep, his pattern of speaking one that told her that she had become more than a little predictable. Others would not be able to detect the amusement that lingered in his voice, but she could. He enjoyed poking fun when he could, and he’d reveled in her inability to truly fight back.

  
“How many survivors remain?” She took the offered comb, yet another sign of her predictability, and sat on the stone ledge barely lit by firelight while Heras moved the stone back into place before the door. Loathe as she was to admit it, the blessed waters were far too much a tantalizing target for those who had more recently come to her and Heras, their corruption still difficult to fight. Barricading the pool was the only way to keep it safe, even if she wished it were not so.

  
“Four, though the dryad may not last the night.” Heras was quiet while she pulled the comb through her hair, at last continuing in her silence. “You may wish to give her your goodbyes.” His voice held remorse within the deep grumble, but it was slight. Time spent around the woman who wished so dearly to be wholly Kaldorei had made him somewhat more amenable to the more mortal feelings that he had disposed of long ago.

  
“It is a shame. Calnessa was a boon to the forests of Felwood.” It was all that she said, but she knew the furrow of her brow told him that her thoughts were not entirely done. Her easy movements with the comb stalled and then stopped completely as her thoughts drew her away from action, and she put up no fight as her companion plucked the comb from her and continued her work.

  
Long minutes passed with no words between them, one content to leave the other to their thoughts while her hair was combed, braided, and delicately pinned. There were none but Leithi herself who would question Heras’ dedication to the little things when it came to Leithi, and while she had always wondered why the satyr had not simply killed her the several times she’d encountered him, she felt that perhaps there was something in the domestic practices that called him back to better times.

  
“I will see to her. Return to the others, and continue searching for my father. If he has not escaped his prison, I still wish to know why he will not answer.” Her eyes watched him, leonine tail whisking against a wall as he ducked an arch and then was gone. She waited until the sound of his uncloven hooves no longer bounced off the stone, and then rose. Heras would scold her when he caught her with her illusions intact, she knew. Though the weight of the wings did not disperse, she felt the arcane ripple over her skin like she had just stepped naked into water, and the runes etched into her skin glowed dimly and then faded. To all but a few, she now looked every bit unquestionably Kaldorei.

  
It was the least she could do, if she were saying goodbye to an old friend.

  
-

  
They had done all that they could, she knew. Though she would have preferred to keep the dryad in the woods, the upper grounds of Felwood were still tainted and were no place for those who were sick. She had spent years befriending the moonkin that had guarded the otherwise bland caverns, knowing that the artifact that they so zealously guarded was important. As corruption had buried into them and taken them one by one, she had chased it away from the caverns as best she could.

  
The artifact now lay beneath the blessed pool, safe from those who would seek it. Without the moonkin defending it, there was no one to know that something so precious lingered beneath the ground, and with it she had fashioned a safer place than what was above. A place of peace and comfort, or so she hoped. It was not always deemed so, but no one could tell her that she didn’t try.

  
It was no surprise to her that when she entered the alcove where her fellows had brought Calnessa, the vines and grass that another had tried to grow for the dryad were now withered. Like autumn in the human lands, Calnessa’s body had faded through from vibrant greens and blues of spring into the deep russets and reds of fall, but what could be mistaken for simply seasonal change was, to her knowledge, the sign of the swiftly ebbing spirit held within.

  
‘ _Heras is right,’_ she mourned silently. ‘ _Calnessa will not last the night.’_

  
Even so, Leithi set the familiar smile that Calnessa knew so well on her lips as she settled down in the withered grass beside her friend. They had done all that they could for her, those who lingered deeper in the caverns. Heras himself had delicately wrapped the bandages around the foreleg of the dryad while Leithi had distracted her. No doubt Calnessa had not thought in all her life to be tended to by those who had corrupted her beloved forests, but there it was all the same. It had led to some very interesting conversations over the last few weeks.

  
“I brought you some food,” Leithi murmured. Calnessa’s burns had robbed her of one of her ears and chewed through most of her hide, and sounds were painful to her now. With knife in hand, she patiently cut small pieces of the apples that she had been brought, and set them near the dryad.

  
Calnessa’s eyes opened, but only barely. It was a sad smile that settled on her lips, and unlike all the nights previous, she did not bother to try and move as if to greet her friend. Leithi understood, taking up small pieces and holding them out to feed the woman, though only the barest of nibbles was taken before golden eyes fell closed again.

  
“Are you in pain?”

  
“Yes.” The dryad’s voice was soft, like a whisper through the trees, and ragged. Smoke has scarred her throat and lungs, and even breathing had been a chore. The girlish giggles and playful laughter had been attempted, but even in the few moments that she had felt better, Calnessa had never really improved. “I will not be for much longer.”

  
“I know.” Again, the apple was lifted, then dropped away as the dryad refused to take any more.

  
“Will you continue,” the dryad paused to catch her breath before attempting more words, “to cleanse the forests, Ash’alla?” A labored wheeze left her, and her features twisted in pain and then eased as Leithi set a dimly glowing hand gently against a bandage.

  
“Always, my friend. I will always try to cleanse the corruption I find, just as we used to.”

  
“Just like old times.” The dryad smiled, twisted skin pulling and making her whimper. “Tyrosus’ son… I lost him in the woods. Will you… find him? So headstrong, that boy. He took his bow and said he’d… he’d join the others. He’d take back… Darkshore.”

  
“Is that why you left Felwood?”

  
“Yes. I could not… let him go on his own. We had no idea what would become of the tree, and then the ambush. There were too many…” The dryad’s undamaged hand flexed, and Leithi set her own within and squeezed as if to comfort her.

  
“I will find him, Calnessa. I promise.”

  
“Thank you.” Her voice was weak now, and each breath was more labored than the last. “Thank you… for trying.” Her eyes closed, and this time Leithi knew they would not open again. Still, she remained with her hand in the other one’s own, until the last of the plant life had withered and the cut apples were a deep brown, the last of the life in the alcove ebbing with the dryad’s own.

  
-

  
“She needs to know!”

  
Leithi remained out of sight, a hand pressed to the wall of the cavern while she listened. The voices were familiar - Heras, his tone firm in denial of those who had come, and the younger voices of the pair of Kaldorei merchants that so often brought them supplies, Lyanne and Myris. To hear either of them was both relieving and concerning, but Myris’ impatient tone called for her attention more than either.

  
“She is currently indisposed. You would do well to leave your message, or come back later.”

  
“No! Leithi needs to know this. Please, Heras!”

  
“You will wake the others with your shouting.”

  
“Shouting seems to be the only thing that reaches your big, dumb, ugly face!”

  
“Myris, let us not resort to name-calling, however true it may be.” Lyanne’s tone was brimming with barely restrained laughter, no doubt well amused as her lover picked a fight with the satyr. “We will just leave a message, as Heras has asked. Leithi has never been one to dawdle, after all.”

  
“Not this time, Lyanne. This is not like when you were sick. It is important that she know, now. Tyrande… it’s horrible.”

Leithi’s brow furrowed, her head tilting just so. For Myris to say the name of the woman she disliked above all others was curious, indeed. The silence of those that were listening was testament to that. It was enough to bring Leithi from the shadows, her robes whisking on the ground and drawing the attention of the trio.

  
“Leithi!”

  
“Myris, I could hear you clear- … what is wrong?”

  
The collision of the woman against herself was unexpected, but so were the tears. In all of the time that she could remember of the woman, only twice had she seen her cry. Now would be the third. Casting a quick look to Lyanne, who looked even more concerned, Leithi embraced her companion as the woman spoke.

  
“Tyrande… it is rumored that she intends to attempt a ritual. She is angry, of course she would be, but to call for this ritual is to call for death to all those who even watch! Her need for vengeance… please, you must know something!”

  
“There are many rituals, Myris. The priesthood is filled with them.”

  
“How many have failed since the first?”

  
Leithi remained silent, and now her eyes drifted toward Heras. He seemed far too interested in the conversation for her tastes, but there was naught to be done about it now.

  
“Only one, but she would never attempt something so foolish.”

  
“No? She who would slay those who were only doing as they were ordered? No one tells that bitch what to do!” Myris’ sorrow was swiftly becoming rage, and it was all that Leithi could do to keep the woman from storming off. “She’ll kill us all in her quest for vengeance. She’s done it before!”

  
Leithi’s lips pursed. No, Myris was not wrong. Tyrande had long excused terrible acts as being necessary collateral damage. Myris had never forgiven their leader since burying her lifemate’s body following the liberation of Illidan, and had constantly spoken out against her ever since. It had led to Myris losing much of her standing and her previous life - but she had gained Lyanne.

  
Even so, the Kaldorei were not known to give up on grudges easily, and while many had turned their hatred toward outside influence such as the Horde or the Legion, there were some who would never forget what Tyrande had done to her own people, and would never see her as anything but another Azshara. Myris had escaped death by the sacrifice of her lover. It haunted her.

  
“Tell me everything that you know, Myris.”

  
“The son of Wrynn denied us the help to retake Darkshore. His reasoning is logical, of course… but at his request for patience, Tyrande only scoffed and said that she would do it without them… but she left behind the others and started ahead. Now those who are looking for her are making mention of the Night Warrior. You know more than anyone else that I know, Leithi. You _know_ what that means!”

  
The priestess frowned, and suddenly the weight of her wings was hardly the heaviest that she carried. She let a moment pass, then nodded. “You and Lyanne are no doubt weary. Come, let me take you both to my chambers where you can rest. It will be better when you wake.”

As she turned the woman away and was joined by the other, her voice turned to Heras - who still watched, leonine tail swaying behind him.

  
“Your three fastest and most controlled, and yourself. I have no reason to doubt her words, but I wish to see this for myself. We will leave as soon as they rest.”

  
Heras nodded, departing in the other direction while Leithi attended to her friends, sending another two in passing to begin preparations for Calnessa’s burial. Her thoughts, however, lay elsewhere. Leithi could not deny the feeling in the pit of her stomach that something very wrong was swiftly approaching.

  
… she only hoped she was wrong.

  
  



End file.
